


That Which We Are, We Are

by FunkyinFishnet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst, Family, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Slash, Relationship(s), Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2013-10-01
Packaged: 2017-12-28 03:14:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunkyinFishnet/pseuds/FunkyinFishnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not just hunting that runs in the Winchester family, Sam is a shapeshifter with a canine form like his Dad before him. Dean disapproves of pretty much everything, Castiel makes a point, and Gabriel is the only one who really understands. Sam discovers that it's possible to have what he wants without causing pain to anyone, including himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Which We Are, We Are

 

 

Sam winced at how hard Dean slammed the motel room door shut. That was going to add to their bill. And he'd be the one who'd have to deal with it since Dean would probably be gone 'til tomorrow morning. Perfect. His brother was an asshole. Not really breaking news.

 

 

And of course Dean had left when there was extremely obscure lengthy research to get done. Bobby, for once, didn't have the answer, so long hard research was the only way they were going to find out what the hell was stalking the streets out there, leaving thick yellow slime that could eat away people's clothing and apparently their skin too.

 

 

Sam would get right on that, if only he could stop shaking. His hands were trembling, combined with a burning heat all over and a sensation like he wanted to claw his way out of his own skin. It was all sickeningly familiar. It was the reason Dean had almost busted the door off its hinges. Sam needed to change, as scared as he was to. He’d held out for almost a month, which was miraculous. If he didn’t shift really soon, he wouldn’t be able to hunt. He wouldn’t be able to do anything. He’d be like Dad when he'd refused to shift – mindless fury and pain. Those weren’t cherished memories.

 

 

He had to do this. It wasn’t something Dean would ever accept – that it was a necessity. Sam understood why. It was still all too clear in the front of his mind - _blood, flesh, hunger, mine, more……glorious, more_ – and it played out vividly in his dreams every night. He didn’t need Dean throwing it in his face every time he got the shifting itch. It was always as sharp as razorblades in Sam’s mind. He closed his eyes and regulated his breathing.

 

 

The shaking was getting worse. Soon, his body would shut down. Right before he started seeing things and attacking anyone who came near him. Shifting, and throwing the gate wide open to his hunger and all possible bloody consequences, was the only option he had if he wanted to live.

 

 

And he wanted to.

 

 

Living was the only way he could start making up for what he’d done. Careful and controlled, not sliding again into feeding and frenzy and becoming the animal, tearing everyone apart.

 

 

He took a deep breath, a swell of something (anticipation, hunger, fear, self-loathing) rising up already. He double-checked that everything was packed away, and pried the door open a little. He had to keep control. He had to live. Then, stripping off his clothes, he fixed his mind's eye on _family, Dean, the salad he'd had for lunch with the really good croûtons, Jess's smile, control_ and the change began.

 

 

Bones folded, muscles shifted, skin prickled with fur, everything compacted, and then Sam slid down onto all fours and into his canine form. It didn't hurt so much when he didn't fight it, that was what he told himself. The air smelled good and someone was BBQing close by. He’d missed this, warning and worry tickling away in his mind at that thought, before…..

 

 

_…..Run, chase, hunt, devour, need._ Life was tugging at him from every sense. There was so much........

 

 

He nosed the door open, closed it behind him, and took off for the outside world. Thank God the motel allowed pets. He really didn't want to walk in later naked and without his key. Not only was it mortifying, he was running out of creative excuses that wouldn't end in an arrest or blackmail.

 

 

He'd been right; the air really was good out, and the nearby beach was full of possibilities. Sam ran, his body straining and aching and feeling the best it had in weeks. His animal instincts were buzzing. _Eat, light, water, smells....._

 

 

He had to keep control. He had to. Fear and hunger wrestled for dominance.

 

 

Food. Meat, it had to be meat. There were birds near the shoreline. And kids and adults. There was a BBQ smoking near them. Sam could taste it. The littlest kid had already dropped one sausage almost into the surf. If Sam went over slowly, demonstrating that he was clean and not a danger to the kids, which he wasn’t, he reminded himself firmly, he might get leftovers. He’d gotten the routine down pretty well.

 

 

He really didn't want to end up rooting through garbage outside restaurants again. Coughing up bones the next day was disgusting and scraped his throat raw. He almost always woke up with stomach cramps. There were worse pains to suffer.

 

 

A new smell pervaded his perception as he let the kids stroke him as he snaffled up more sausages. Something foul that would send most animals running in the opposite direction. Animals who didn't spend the majority of their lives hunting creatures that smelled like that and worse.

 

 

Sam wandered from the family as quickly as he could, the warm feeling he got from the friendly and kind attention settling into his bones. He forced himself to focus, focus, and not think about what else – _hunger_ \- he could be doing. The rancid smell zig-zagged across the beach, to under the boardwalk. Right there, by one of the posts, it looked like a faint trail of thick yellow mucus. Definitely familiar. So that was why he and Dean hadn't been able to find whatever it was – it nested down here somewhere.

 

 

Sam yapped. He wasn't in the right body for a fight and some monsters could see what he really was. But this was a lead, a distraction from what he could be doing. He had to focus. This would help. There was something he could do.

 

 

*

 

 

He changed for the first time when he was still a toddler. One minute, he'd been screaming and crying in Dean's arms, the next he was a squirming shifting mass of fur and teeth and claws. Dean still had the scars.

 

 

Dad had explained it only once. How he shifted too, into a dog like Sam. His form was big and black and ferocious. Sam had seen armed groups of liquored-up locals backing away from Dad with his hackles rising. Sam's canine form was big too, but not nearly as imposing. He was all gangly legs and huge brown eyes, the kind of dog that kids liked to play with and that girls like to pet and laugh about. Dean had thought that was hilarious once.

 

 

Dad had also made it clear that they shouldn't shift at all if possible, that it was too dangerous. He didn't ever want to talk about it. Dean followed his example rigidly.

 

 

Dean wasn't a shifter. Sometimes, Sam thought that Dean wished he was, that he wished he was like Dad and Sam, sharing that with them. Other times, it was like Dean hated it worse than anything else.

 

 

Sam knew the feeling.

 

 

*

 

 

He woke up naked in bed. That was a relief. Dean's bed was still empty, setting off a familiar angry worried pang inside Sam. Dean was fine, he was probably with Cas, and Sam had Cas on speed dial and his solemn proclamation that he would protect Dean always. Dean had gone hilariously pink at that.

 

 

Sam did a quick almost subconscious body inspection – no new marks or bruises. He couldn’t taste blood or flesh in his mouth. His muscles burned pleasantly and his head twitched in a reflex that he couldn't quite shake out of canine form. It always brought on the Lassie snarks from Dean.

 

 

He felt good though, rested and sated like he'd run hard and slept for twelve hours. That satisfied happy train of thought rapidly veered into worry and guilt. Enjoying his canine form had been the start of his problems in the first place and had led to throats being slashed and blood and triumphant baying and the terrible way Dean had looked at him afterward. Sam felt cold and sick, he couldn’t start enjoying shifting again. But he couldn't go so long without a change again either. It would kill him.

 

 

Sam swallowed. Breakfast. He needed breakfast. Something clean and healthy. He felt sick thinking about how much crap he'd digested the night before. It was like his animal side enjoyed torturing him.

 

 

There was a diner close by. Sam grabbed the motel key, his cellphone in case Dean called, and his notepad. He had things to remember, leads that could mean this job would get wrapped up soon and they could get back to Bobby's to help out with the ten-man hunt he'd been telling them about last weekend.

 

 

They could use a canine sense of smell, Bobby had said in the way that meant _I'm not saying you have to, but c'mon you idjit, you think I'm stating this for fun?_ Sam sighed. Even hunters who were friends of Bobby, guys he trusted enough to tell about the special kind of blood that ran through the Winchester line, gripped their guns a little tighter when he shifted. Any other day of the week, they'd have shot without thinking twice.

 

 

Sam hated feeling like the lucky one.

 

 

*

 

 

He was halfway through his second breakfast pancake and already several pages into his notes when someone literally bounced into the seat opposite him. There was the strong smell of sticky chocolate syrup and waffles and the animal inside Sam growled, some of his hackles rising. He had the disconcerting desire to _devour_. He didn't have to look to know who it was. He wanted to though.

 

 

“What do you want, Gabriel?”

 

 

Gabriel was smiling when Sam finally glanced his way, half of his waffle gone already. He sucked syrup off his thumb and Sam had to consciously stop a rough hungry sound from exiting his throat.

 

 

He could smell so much under the syrup and coffee that Gabriel had already drunk – ridiculously sweet with generous cream apparently. There was blood and smoke and sex, a lot of sex. Sam dug his fingers into his thigh. The dog was getting close to the surface again. Gabriel was dangerous. A Very Bad Idea, the Worst probably. The dog didn't care. It wanted Gabriel, ferociously. It always had.

 

 

“Well, there's nobody else interesting awake in this time zone,” Gabriel grinned at him, letting the compliment slide across without lessening it.

 

 

“And you just happen to be here, while we're hunting.”

 

 

“You'd prefer it if I was stalking you? Sammy, you're kinkier than I gave you credit for.”

 

 

Sam shook his head, color flooding down the back of his neck. Gabriel was a pain in the ass. It was one of many reasons why Dean hated him.

 

 

Sam could deal with him. The archangel had left them alone after their disastrous and painful (especially for Sam) adventures in TV land. Then Gabriel had started turning up being unnervingly helpful, without explanation. He just dropped stuff in Sam's lap and disappeared, no tricks. And the information was always true, saving them hours and injuries and lives. Castiel had confirmed from what he’d seen in Gabriel’s grace that his brother was genuine in his intentions. He could be trusted for now. So Dean didn’t try to kill him, though was clearly tempted most of the time, and Sam tried to get Gabriel to answer questions about the Garden of Eden and seeing God that had Gabriel rolling his eyes and being disparaging about the Renaissance movement.

 

 

Then Gabriel started appearing whenever Sam ate alone. He’d sit down and snark and smirk like he knew something hilarious and he wasn't going to share it just yet and he played footsie with Sam like it was chicken and who was going to break first? He never once talked about Sam saying “yes” to Lucifer. And, Sam reasoned, if Gabriel was with him, at least he wasn’t causing chaos elsewhere.

 

 

The meals together became regular, whether Sam wanted them to or not, and then so did breakfast. It said a lot about Sam’s life that frequent meals with a Trickster who was the archangel Gabriel in disguise, and who had also tried to bring about Armageddon, now felt normal.

 

 

And the dog liked him, more than was healthy for Sam’s plans of staying alive, keeping himself carefully controlled, and so not causing any more bloody destruction and pain. It was continually aggravating, like riding way too close to the edge.

 

 

“Rough night?” Gabriel had a plate piled high with pancakes now, studded with chocolate chips. “You smell like wet dog.”

 

 

Sam made a face. He really hoped the hot water was working in the motel. He felt gross. “No rougher than usual.”

 

 

“Mmm, sounds good to me.” Gabriel waggled his eyebrows.

 

 

Sam pulled a bitchface and concentrated on finishing his pancakes. Somehow, his coffee cup had refilled itself. It didn't taste like it'd been messed with. Gabriel tipped back in his chair, wearing a dangerously contemplative expression.

 

 

“So I'm thinking the reason you're going stag today is that you had to howl at the moon and Dean got his panties in a bunch because he's living My Brother Has Fur and All I Do is Brood About It.”

 

 

If that wasn't tragically true, it would probably be funny. Sam settled for glaring at Gabriel and finishing off his notes.

 

 

“What do I win?” Gabriel leered.

 

 

For a few blissful seconds, Sam contemplated throwing his coffee at the archangel, just to see the look on Gabriel's face. But the payback he'd get in return really wasn't worth it. His animal instincts wanted something totally different. Sam sternly told himself to behave.

 

 

“That look belongs to your brother,” Gabriel informed him. “It's not you.”

 

 

“You don't know me.”

 

 

Gabriel laughed, and it sounded joyful, not mocking. Uplifting. “Oh, Sammy, the things I know...”

 

 

It didn't sound like a threat; it was more like affection and promise. The animal liked it. Sam squirmed. Gabriel eyed him speculatively.

 

 

“You should watch more Discovery Channel. The more you try to cage an animal, the more it lashes out.”

 

 

Then Gabriel was gone, the sound of wingbeats pounding in Sam's ears. He could smell everything being cooked in the kitchen, he could hear the staff's conversations, and the radio stations playing in the cars outside. Gabriel’s last words pointedly echoed Sam’s thoughts. He hated when Gabriel did that, which was probably why the archangel kept doing it.

 

 

Gabriel’s coffee mug was still warm when Sam touched it.

 

 

*

 

 

It took Dean returning with Castiel in tow and some heavy-duty research to work out how to deal with the slime-spewing creature. Castiel marveled that such a thing still existed – they were purported to have died out at least a century ago. Dean warned that if any slime did damage to the Impala’s upholstery, then they’d be walking to Bobby’s.

 

 

Castiel was getting better at adapting his dwindling angelic skill-set to hunting and once they got under the board walk, it didn't take long to rout the thing out, throwing fresh water at it, and chanting the right Latin. Sam felt like he’d been doing variations of this for years. The dog agreed, restless.

 

 

It did feel like there was an extra sort of push of something behind them this time though. Sam's aim was unfailingly accurate and he didn't stumble over the new Latin chants once. He had his suspicions, which warmed him in dangerous ways from the inside out, and thought quietly _thanks_.

 

 

Dean looked pained when Sam’s head twitched, signaling his animal form’s state of mind. But then Bobby called and while Dean was relating the night's events, Castiel fixed his curious gaze on Sam.

 

 

“How did you come to find its nest, Sam?” Castiel asked, loud enough for Dean to hear.

 

 

Sam hunched his shoulders, avoiding Dean’s gaze. He hoped that this wasn’t going to lead to another round of last night’s argument. “I was…uh…out, last night, caught the scent.”

 

 

Castiel nodded. “Does your canine form often assist?”

 

 

Sam's brow furrowed. Dean was watching them, clearly wishing that his conversation with Bobby would finish so that he could break up Castiel's questioning. His jaw was clenched tight and his body language screamed for the angel to shut the hell up. Cas was making a point and Dean was being forced to listen. Sneaky. Sam was impressed and would be amused too if not for the subject matter.

 

 

“I don’t think it should,” he answered at last, the familiar guilt and worry thrumming in him. It was as regular as his heartbeat now.

 

 

“It’s a gift to be used, Sam,” Castiel stated, as though surprised that Sam thought otherwise, even though he’d been there for Sam’s less-than-stellar days and Dean's explosive attitude. “We would not have solved this case without it.”

 

 

“Are we done?” Dean was irritated, bristling more than usual, phone snapped shut. Sam could smell the heat coming off of him for Castiel, the salve he’d used on his burns last night, the burger he’d had for lunch. Dean. “Because I need a beer. Did you smell that dude?”

 

 

It was the most cordial Dean had been for a while. It was actually kind of a miracle. Castiel's blank expression somehow telegraphed a smile. Sam sighed. Beer sounded really good right now. He could feel Castiel’s words mixing in with Gabriel’s, challenging him. Angels in the form of temptation, because that made sense in his life.

 

 

When Sam got back to the motel, pleasantly buzzing, there were dog treats on his pillow. Dean had mostly grown out of that prank once they’d gotten past puberty, unless he was seriously wasted. But Sam had seen him disappear, soft around the edges but not so drunk he needed to be carried, into a separate motel room with Castiel.

 

 

Sam reached for the biscuits and his fingers made contact with something soft. It glimmered a deep gold in the starlight that poured through the window. A feather, and it smelled like chocolate, candy, mint, and summer. Gabriel. The dog stirred, interested. Sam stared at it in disbelief, his heart twisting.

 

 

He put the treats somewhere Dean wouldn't see them and tucked the feather under his pillow. He, and the dog, slept with Gabriel's smell deep in his nostrils. The restless feeling disappeared, something more urgent clawing in its place. Sam’s dreams were troublingly like happiness found in running on four legs, and in a howl in the night.

 

 

*

 

 

It was going to happen sooner or later, so Sam had figured that maybe he'd be prepared for it. There he was, scavenging down a really rancid-smelling alley for something to eat close to midnight, desperate after only a week of not-shifting. It was getting a lot worse, hence the desperation.

 

 

“I have eaten in some dives in my considerable lifetime,” Gabriel shook his head in disgust. “But even this is out of my comfort zone, Sammy.”

 

 

Sam barked, his tail wagging. There was no way Gabriel would miss that. It was harder to bottle down the dangerous mix of emotions that Gabriel brought out in him when in this form. Exactly what Sam was afraid of. Gabriel arched his eyebrows, but didn’t say a word, snapping his fingers instead.

 

 

A bowl of tender juicy chicken – clearly fresh - appeared in front of Sam, making his mouth literally water. Nothing had smelled so good tonight. He barked his thanks, before deciding to dig in. Better to try and sate the hunger now. The bowl seemed to refill every time Sam came close to finishing, until he felt pleasantly full.

 

 

When he looked up, Gabriel was eating a doughnut. Sam struggled with the urge to rub himself against Gabriel’s legs. It was a terrifying thought that he just about managed to curb.

 

 

“You’re a lot friendlier like this,” Gabriel noted, an amused smile stretching across his face.

 

 

He stroked Sam’s back, sending frissons of really good, deep pleasure through Sam. If he’d been in human form, he would have moaned. There was no way that Gabriel wasn’t aware of the effect he was having. His grin widened even more, his fingers continuing their movement. Sam made a noise in his throat that he wasn’t proud of, that chilled him.

 

 

Could the archangel read his thoughts when he was in this form? Maybe they’d be easier or harder to perceive. Sam couldn’t resist rubbing his head against the archangel’s knee in grateful thanks. Just for a moment, because his resolve was stretched enough to break for some tiny space of selfishness.

 

 

“You’re just as cute when you’re a dog as you are on two legs.”

 

 

Sam barked, delight and embarrassment and _fear_ filling him. There was still that need inside him, to be close, to _have_ , to sink his teeth into impossible dangerous things. Gabriel looked at him intently, a pleased smile taking possession of his mouth.

 

 

“Oh, you are definitely my favorite. Come on, there’s an arcade that I happen to know is definitely rigged and the owner's a dog lover.”

 

 

*

 

 

Sam had shifted and stayed clean. He felt good, whole. His plan for being careful and controlled was going to work. He began shifting more often in very sparse limited times – always at night, so that Dean didn't see him - in the quietest areas of whatever town they'd pulled into. More often than not, Gabriel was there too.

 

 

“You look like you need company,” was the only reason he offered, and Sam felt steadier for the archangel being there. Just in case. If anyone had the strength to get him under control, it was Gabriel.

 

 

The relief was palatable. The pressure continued to gradually ease. The restless feeling was stilled. He slept better. So he allowed himself to use his extra senses when hunting in human form. He was living a precarious balancing act between his two forms, using them both so that one didn’t become unsatisfied and pained. It was working. Dad had missed out on this. Compromise had never been part of John Winchester’s nature.

 

 

The dog still had a desire for Gabriel. That hadn’t died down at all. The archangel treated him the same in both forms, as though being with Ruby hadn’t unleashed Sam in a completely horrifying sickening way. He laughed when Sam mentioned it.

 

 

“Yeah, because that’s never happened before.” He rolled his eyes. “Deal with it, Sammy. We’re all trying to stay on some kind of wagon.”

 

 

It was flippant and frustrating, but Sam could see between the words. Gabriel had two forms, and he indulged copiously, enjoying sex and pranks and food and everything else that life could give him. But he was helping them, in his own way. He was doing a dangerous impossible balancing act too, only he made it look easy.

 

 

“This is us, Sammy,” Gabriel shrugged, his hand lingering on Sam’s knee. “Can’t change it.”

 

 

Sam had never been touched so much by someone that he wasn’t in a relationship with. It wasn’t exactly a revelation. It was still a step too far that he wasn’t going to take though, no matter the want that flamed up under his skin.

 

 

Dean and Castiel both picked up on it. Cas and Gabriel had reached some kind of truce that apparently worked for them. Dean was extremely obvious in his displeasure at his brother and Gabriel bonding.

 

 

“What the hell, dude?” Dean demanded one rare night when Castiel wasn’t there and Gabriel was apparently seeing a fellow pagan demi-god about a goat. Sam hadn’t been sure if he’d been joking or not.

 

 

Sam raised his eyes from his laptop screen. Dean was scowling at him, arms crossed tight. Sam didn’t need his extra senses to recognize that Dean was pissed. Great, it was going to be one of those nights. He’d been kind of hoping that Castiel had talked Dean out of them.

 

 

“What’d you mean?”

 

 

“That son of a bitch showing up wherever we are, the touching…”

 

 

Dean clearly wasn’t willing to get more specific than that and Sam hoped his skin didn’t look as flushed as it felt. “He’s got sources, he’s helping us out.”

 

 

“In exchange for what?”

 

 

Sam’s eyes widened. “Not that! Okay?”

 

 

Dean eyed him and Sam’s temper flared. That was what Dean thought was going on here? Not that he didn’t deserve the distrust after Ruby and he knew that Gabriel wasn’t exactly Dean’s favorite person-angel-Trickster. But Sam had learned his lesson, no matter what Dean thought. He was in control of things now. Couldn’t Dean see that? Even a little?

 

 

“Look.” Sam took a deep breath. “Gabriel’s…..a friend, I guess. I trust him.”

 

 

Dean’s eyebrows shot up and Sam cut in quickly. “I understand why you don’t. But I do, okay? And I think Cas does as well.”

 

 

“Cas’s mojo ain’t what it used to be,” Dean muttered.

 

 

“They’re brothers, Dean,” Sam said softly, layer upon layer under the simple words.

 

 

Dean’s posture stayed stiff-backed with clenched fists but he didn’t push the point. Slipping Cas in was a roadblock that he never passed. Sam internally sighed and went back to his research. He could feel Dean’s gaze, suspicious and on edge. Dean didn't trust him, and Sam didn't blame him. It still hurt though.

 

 

*

 

 

Gabriel took to resting, or whatever it was that angels did instead of sleep, in Sam’s bed. He appeared one night after Sam got back from shifting, clicking into clothing that looked suspiciously like pajamas, before sprawling across the bed and making himself comfortable. Sam bit down the growl that rose up at the sight of Gabriel messing up his sheets, spreading his scent like he didn’t know what he was doing. Control. He had to be in control.

 

 

Dean and Cas were out, of course. And Sam was exhausted. Both sides of him were wanting, straining at the leash.

 

 

“I’m not going to steal your virtue, Samantha.” Gabriel sounded like he was rolling his eyes. “Not until you ask me to.”

 

 

As though it was a foregone conclusion. Sam shivered and clenched his teeth. But he slid into bed, with as much as space as possible between them. There was no way he was taking Dean’s bed; he had some idea of what went on there, and the floor would be just as bad. Gabriel chuckled, but didn't make a move to get closer. It was weirdly comforting, like somehow Gabriel had learned to be a _gentleman_. Gabriel snorted at his back and started muttering about just who had inspired the Karma Sutra.

 

 

Sam slept really well. Gabriel stayed for breakfast before leaving for ‘business’. He casually ran a hand through Sam’s hair before he made his exit. Sam closed his eyes. It wasn’t just lust that he was getting from Gabriel. It was silent reassurance and _I’m here, I’m not leaving._

 

 

It was big and silent. Naturally, Gabriel didn't say a word aloud about it. Sam knocked his knee against Gabriel’s at dinner that night _. Thank you._

 

 

More and more frequently, Gabriel lay in Sam’s bed. Sam didn’t complain.

 

 

*

 

 

Gabriel sat down and dropped a crossword book in Sam’s lap. Sam had been thinking about buying a paper, to try to tackle the back pages. He looked up with a pleased smile. The archangel was already forking up waffles drenched in maple syrup. Sam’s mouth watered.

 

 

“Projecting, Sammy?”

 

 

Right. Cas respectfully stayed out of their heads most of the time. Gabriel had never met a boundary that he didn’t want to smash. Sam snorted, but slid closer, tentatively rubbing his knuckles down Gabriel’s forearm in greeting. Gabriel’s scent changed subtly.

 

 

“Thanks, Gabriel.”

 

 

There was meaning in those two words that Gabriel would easily be able to dig out. Sam looked down to see that pancakes had appeared for him, cooked exactly the way he liked. He squeezed Gabriel's elbow. The dog keened a noise that Sam almost kept out of his throat. Gabriel clearly heard it.

 

 

“Your old man really screwed you up,” the archangel commented, with a slight shake of his head. “Teaching you to run towards monsters.”

 

 

Sam’s lips curved into a rueful half-smile. The urge to touch Gabriel had been getting hotter in his bones. The dog was getting impatient. Sam felt locked in the middle, poised at a sliding tipping point that had only led to incredibly bad things in the past. Gabriel was looking at him intently, with age in his eyes and a touch of sadness that Sam wanted to make disappear.

 

 

“You've got no clue who I was,” Gabriel's voice was low and Sam stooped closer. “All the things I did, for centuries, without any regrets. I enjoyed it all.”

 

 

Sam had researched Gabriel, a little more after every encounter. Tricksters, and Loki, and the archangel Messenger. There was always more to learn. Sam wanted to. He always had.

 

 

“I know a little something about that.”

 

 

“Oh, Sammy,” Gabriel's gaze was streaked with understanding, maybe something even deeper. “Tearing out throats and enjoying nasty sex is only my beginning. I've got centuries on you, in every bloody shade you can imagine.”

 

 

Gabriel’s voice had dipped deeper. The animal inside Sam was responding eagerly, both sides of Sam were. The line between them had started becoming blurry and indistinct. It was starting to become difficult to think of them as separate beings. Maybe that was the point.

 

 

Sam shook his head suddenly, because Gabriel was only half right. “That’s not everything. It’s still there, heaven. I can smell it.”

 

 

There was a sharp intake of breath from Gabriel and Sam stared defiantly at him. It was true. Under the blood and sex and candy that hazed around Gabriel constantly, there was also heaven in there, deeper than bone. It was a variation of what Castiel used to carry with him. Sam knew he wasn’t mistaken. It felt good, to be the one knowing something that Gabriel didn’t for once.

 

 

“Just a drop-out now, Sammy.”

 

 

“That’s not true.”

 

 

Sam could hear the intensity in his own voice. He dropped his head, his hand gripping Gabriel’s arm tightly. He could feel Gabriel stroking his back.

 

 

“This is a bad idea,” he managed to force out through his teeth, not sure who he was reminding.

 

 

“Definitely,” agreed Gabriel.

 

 

Right, because Gabriel had spent the past few minutes reminding Sam of just what a bad idea he was, like Sam wasn't the same at all. And yet it was because of a bad idea that he now wasn’t even close to tearing out his own skin any more. Because of Gabriel. If there was anyone he wanted to trust himself with, it was Gabriel. He did every time he shifted. He did, because Gabriel too was living his own version of this hell and he had the strength to pull back if Sam wanted.

 

 

Sam growled, there wasn’t another word for it. The animal inside him, that was him, was pushing hard, wanting more, just as Sam did. They both wanted to act on that realization of trust, the freedom it brought. Gabriel would look after him. Sam crowded in closer, teeth grazing Gabriel’s ear. Maybe the line didn’t even exist anymore.

 

 

“The dog’s smart,” Gabriel muttered, sounding breathless and strained. “Definitely my favorite.”

 

 

_Relief, want, need._ Sam was getting his teeth into Gabriel’s neck when he felt the air change around him, recognizing the sensation of angelic flight. Then they were in a bedroom, unfamiliar, huge and opulent and very Gabriel. Sam held onto him tight. The worry and guilt was still shouting at him…but he trusted Gabriel.

 

 

“Don’t go,” he hissed, a strained plea as his hands dug into Gabriel’s arms.

 

 

“Does this look like a room for one?” Gabriel raised a sardonic eyebrow and wrapped his arms around Sam. “This is dangerous, Sam.”

 

 

Sam nipped at his neck lightly; rubbing his hands down Gabriel’s back. Lust was making it difficult to think. But the trust remained clear, the want and need building around it, and the relief he found with Gabriel, the solidity of the situation, the strength of it. He pulled back so that he could look the archangel in the eyes.

 

 

“So am I.”

 

 

Gabriel was probably laughing at him, reading the jumble of Sam’s thoughts. But he smiled, a flash of something genuine and warm, before angling them down onto the ridiculously large bed. Much later, Sam registered how easily he'd given over control. Much later being after Gabriel had driven him crazy with touch and words and after Sam had licked a stripe up his ribs and had swirled his tongue around Gabriel’s nipples. Sam couldn’t tell if the howl was inside his head, or if it’d erupted out loud.

 

 

It was a good long time until later.

 

 

*

 

 

Sam woke up naked in a bed. He couldn’t taste blood or flesh in his mouth. His muscles burned pleasantly and was that a bite mark? There were bruises and marks all over his body. His heartbeat was rapid. But he felt good, sated, like every part of him was satisfied. He wasn’t alone.

 

 

He breathed out. The relief was indescribable.

 

 

Gabriel grinned at him, his face half-visible against the pillow. The need and sheer want inside Sam fired up again. It wasn’t going to end any time soon. Neither was what ran deeper underneath it. _Good_ , the thought was hungry and possessive. Hope ran with it, _please._ Gabriel had stayed.

 

 

Sam was still all himself. He flexed his hands. It felt like a miracle, a blessing even, that he didn't deserve. How long would it last?

 

 

“Seriously? You're angsting about this now?” Gabriel murmured into the pillow. “When there could be more orgasms?”

 

 

Sam choked on a laugh, his arousal heightening. He could smell himself on Gabriel; taste himself on Gabriel’s tongue. God, he _wanted_. And Gabriel was giving that back in waves unequivocally. This was another bad idea that was actually working out. Sam wasn’t used to getting what he wanted, without heart-shattering, devastating consequences. But this, this could be……

 

 

“Sammy…..” Gabriel voice was soft, even as his mouth twisted into a highly amused smirk. “Seriously, more orgasms.”

 

 

Sam rolled his eyes, but with a rush of excited inner heat, reached, and Gabriel uncurled around him, want and something more, however well-hidden, hot in the air. Sam could smell Gabriel mirroring Sam's own emotions right back to him; understanding and accepting and feeling unworthy. _I’m here._ Sam tightened his hold. _Want, need._

 

 

He spoke with two different voices.

 

 

“Yes.”

 

 

_-the end_


End file.
